


phototropism

by escherzo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 03:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18956695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: This garden is a fragile thing. Many of the sprouts are up no further than a half inch, two or three delicate leaves and a stem so thin that any working of the soil could uproot it entirely. Caleb doesn't touch; his hands are made for destruction, not growth.“I don't know about that,” Caduceus says.





	phototropism

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about the whole garden situation in the Xorhaus, okay. This is the best explanation I have for what happened here. 
> 
> Somewhat spoilery couple of sentences from the most recent episode 2x64, though I wouldn't classify them as major spoilers. Set somewhat nebulously beyond the most recent episode and assumes for the purposes of soft domestic fic Everything's Going To Be Basically Okay, which honestly is never a safe assumption with these cats.

Caduceus talks to his garden sometimes.

“It makes the plants happy as they grow,” he explains to Caleb, nestled against the roots of the Xhorhaus tree with his spellbook open in his lap and a half-hearted sprawl of ink bottles and extra papers scattered around him in the dim light of the daylight jars. “Everyone needs some company sometimes.”

Caleb just watches, committing the scene to memory as Caduceus, in a simple tunic and floppy straw hat he doesn't need in the perpetual night of Rohsanna, strokes a gentle finger up and down the stem of a pea plant and murmurs, “You're doing great. We're going to love your fruit when you're ready to let us see it.” 

There's faint chatter from the streets below, but they're used to that. These days, if someone knocks or lingers it's to hope for tea, or maybe leftovers. Once in a great while, it's someone who's heard that Jester can do tattoos. They're part of the city, now, and their eccentricity is woven into its fabric. 

“Want me to go see?” Caduceus asks, and Caleb shakes his head. He set an alarm across the front door this morning, though he doesn't do it every day like he used to. If someone knocks, he'll know. 

“They can look,” he says, and he does, too, Caduceus a vibrant pink beacon lit up by the daylight around him, humming to himself as he thins out a row of sprouting herbs. It's hard to feel anything but safe up here. The past will come to call, one of these days, but for now--

Caleb runs a finger up and down a seam of his purple cloak, well-made and clean, and thinks about a world where they get to keep this.

*

This garden is a fragile thing. Many of the sprouts are up no further than a half inch, two or three delicate leaves and a stem so thin that any working of the soil could uproot it entirely. Caleb doesn't touch; his hands are made for destruction, not growth. 

“I don't know about that,” Caduceus says. He is sitting cross-legged in front of his tree, knees resting against roots on either side, eyes closed, a cup of steaming tea in each hand. The daylight halos his head, and it makes Caleb think of the icon of the Dawnfather that was above his bed as a child. His mother hung it to ward off his nightmares; it is ash now, probably, alongside her. His mouth twists. 

Caduceus holds out one of the cups to him. “I think,” he continues, “that everyone's hands can have many purposes. Even yours. You brought the soil up here for the garden, didn't you?”

“If a shoemaker makes a scarf one day, he is still a shoemaker, ja?” 

Caduceus takes a sip of his tea, smiling faintly. “Maybe he can become a scarf maker someday too. Maybe he just needs some practice.” He pats the ground next to him. “Come sit?”

Most of Caleb wants to run, in this moment as in many others, but he is already holding his cup of tea, and so he lets himself be a little brave and sits down next to Caduceus. The tea is good. It always is, earthy and warm, warding off the chill of the spring night. He was seeking peace when he came up, and probably Caduceus knew it. He was waiting with the tea, after all. 

“Are Jester and Luc still talking?”

“Talking and other things,” Caleb confirms, brushing a fleck of flung paint off his cheek. “He thinks she is very cool.” 

“Miss Jester is very cool.” 

Caleb smiles a little and makes an _eeeehhhh_ noise. “It is good for him to be able to be a normal child for a while,” he concedes. “For him to have his family. But Jester does not need more encouragement to let her dog jump on everyone.” 

“He's happy to have more people around too.”

“Can you please tell him that my cat does not trust him, then,” Caleb says, and now that the immediate danger of finger paints, blink dog, and tail-pulling small children have passed, snaps Frumpkin back into existence. Frumpkin, after a quick look around, purrs in approval and pads over to Caduceus, rubbing his face against his leg. 

“He knows,” Caduceus says, scritching Frumpkin under the chin. “Dogs just know that everyone will like them, with enough time. I get that.” 

Caleb relaxes into Caduceus's side, head against his shoulder, and lets himself take a deep, calming breath for the first time in awhile. Above them, the night sky twinkles with a thousand stars. For a moment, Caleb imagines them with the glittering threads of connection within the Luxon, imagines reaching out and bending the threads and pulling them down into himself, a thousand possibilities in his grasp. 

“You can help me thin the spinach tomorrow,” Caduceus rumbles, and Caleb feels as much as hears the buzz of it. “We need destruction for growth, too. So let's work on growth.” 

Caleb nods, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. “I brought a book up here with me,” he says finally, into the low hum of the night air. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

“I'd like that a lot,” Caduceus says.

“In an age long past, before the gods were sealed away to us...” Caleb begins, and Caduceus closes his eyes and listens, taking a long sip of tea. 

The pandemonium continues downstairs, ignored.

*

Weeks ago, in the raging chaos of battle in the Barbed Fields, a sorrowsworn embraced Caleb. Wailing its heartbreak into his ears as its arms sunk into his flesh, trying to pull him into itself to fill its emptiness, and before he lost consciousness, even through the terror coursing through him, all he could think was, _ja, I understand._

When he opened his eyes again, he was on the ground, and between him and the creature was the towering form of Caduceus, staff held high. _You will not have him_ , he seemed to say. 

The past will come for Caleb someday soon. He knows this.

He isn't as afraid of what that day will look like anymore. 

*

“What would I have to do--” Caleb hesitates, halfway through copying a spell into his book, “--to be able to see the gardens in the Lucid Bastion?”

Essek raises an eyebrow. He has a way of looking at Caleb that makes him feel a little too seen. It's not an unfamiliar sensation. Everything about Essek makes Caleb think about the man he was training to be and never became, and it sets him on edge; he thinks of the hundreds of Calebs he saw within the Beacon, hundreds of lives he might have lived or might still yet live, and wonders about the path that could have led him to that point.

“Just see it?” Essek asks, after a moment's silence. Caleb's cheeks feel hot, and he scrunches his eyes shut for a moment before going back to his writing.

“I would like some seeds,” he admits quietly. “What would I have to do to get them?”

“Just ask, I suspect. If that isn't enough, well. You were very vague about the Scourgers. A bit more for a favor could be a fair trade.” 

“Vollstrecker,” Caleb corrects automatically, not looking up. 

“Vollstrecker,” Essek agrees. “What does that mean in Zemnian, anyway?” 

Caleb hesitates, but there's no point in lying about this, not after all he's said already. “Executioner.”

“My teachers saw that I was a prodigy too,” Essek says, not for the first time, but for the first time continues, “but I suspect you were made to do—things I wasn't. I'm sorry.”

Caleb stares down at his page and doesn't respond, and after a moment Essek continues, “Tell me something you haven't yet about your training, and I'll get you what seeds I can.”

The scars are visible if one looks close, and Essek is an observant man; he's surely seen them already. There's no point in not saying it, and he would very much like those seeds. 

“These scars here,” he says, holding his arms out, palms up. “My, ah—teacher. Experimented with embedding crystals under our skin to see if it would make us more powerful. I don't know what kind precisely. The others who trained with me have the same scars.” 

“Thank you,” Essek says, quiet. “I'll get you what you want.” 

*

The next day, a guard knocks at the door, a small parcel in hand. It's addressed to Caleb in ornate, spidery writing, a looping flourish on the W of Widogast. Caleb smiles at it and gives the guard a gold piece on his way out, tucking the package into his cloak for later. 

*

“Nott, I need to ask you for a favor.”

Yeza and Luc are upstairs in the Happy Room, and so Nott is in the alchemy lab alone for once. She is in the middle of carefully pouring a small, violently green vial of liquid into the flask she's holding, strange little bits of moss and mushroom scattered all over the workbench and under her fingernails, and so she doesn't look up, but she says, “Of course, Caleb. Anything for you.” The flask hisses and she flinches, taking a nervous step back with it still in hand, but once the bubbles subside the liquid seems to stabilize again, its vibrancy dulling to a pale green. 

“What are you making?”

“Snaketongue. If you drink it, you can spit poison! I mean, I hope, Yeza just figured out the recipe an hour ago and so I'm trying it out. I figure I'll get Beau to drink it because she'll try anything.” 

She's not wrong. Beau has so far tried a wide variety of extremely weird concoctions, including one Yeza called “crystal sweet” that made her stuck acting like Tracy for a solid hour. 

“Anyway,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him as she swirls the flask, “what is it?”

Caleb twists his hands together. “I, ah, well. That is, when you are going out later, please get Caduceus to come with you, if you could.” 

Nott sets the flask down immediately and turns around, grinning at him. One part of her eyebrow is faintly singed. “Oh?”

“For an hour or so, at least,” he adds, and he can feel his face flushing. 

She looks at him for a long moment and then nods, satisfied by whatever she saw there. “I'll see what I can do.”

“You are my _greatest_ friend,” Caleb says. 

*

There is an untouched patch of earth in the garden; Caduceus calls it room for new friends, which is either sweet or a little morbid, depending on his tone, but then again, the gray area between those two things is Caduceus's permanent state. 

Caleb looks down at the bare soil with trepidation. His coat and book holster are downstairs, left behind once he was sure the rest of the Nein were out on their shopping trip, and after some thought, looking between it and the small paper bundle in his hands, he shrugs out of his shirt as well. He has seen Caduceus do this dozens of times. He knows the motions exactly. This shouldn't be something that requires bravery; this is a simple task.

“This is very stupid,” he says, out loud. “Scheisse. It is just planting seeds.” 

He closes his eyes and remembers Caduceus holding off the sorrowsworn, shielding him. 

“Just planting,” he repeats to himself, taking a deep breath, and sets to work. 

There are four different kinds of seeds in the bundle, all unknown to him: two large oval-shaped types of a cream color, about five of those each, one type the size of a peppercorn with a dozen seeds, and one that is scarcely more than a pile of black specks. The largest scare him the least, and with his fingers he presses gentle holes into the soil two inches apart each to drop them in and cover them over. The others, he drags long, thin lines and sprinkles them down, shallower, remembering Caduceus explaining once that some little seeds can't find their way to the surface if they start too far down. It's quicker work than he expected, but he allows himself to stop and take in the animal joy of digging his hands deep into soft earth for a moment. 

“Oh,” he hears from behind him, and he looks up to see Caduceus just past the tower doorway, staring at him. 

Caleb is frozen, hands still sunk into the dirt. “I—verdammt, I was going to surprise you, uh--”

“You have,” Caduceus says, wondering, and he comes up to stand behind Caleb, a hand on his shoulder. “What are you planting?”

“Seeds from the Queen's garden,” Caleb says. “I—told Essek about Astrid and Eodwulf, a little, to get them.” 

“And you planted them. Mr. Caleb, look at me?” 

Caleb turns around to face him, still standing close, and Caduceus looks so wild and pleased, so different than his usual unflappable self. His eyes are locked on Caleb's, and Caleb can feel his face heating. 

“We can both try new things today,” Caduceus says. He leans down, hand cupping the side of Caleb's face, and kisses him. 

“Please,” Caleb says, going up on tiptoe to reach properly, arms looping around the back of Caduceus's neck, and there is a full foot of difference in their height, but for the moment he is paying no attention to the discomfort. Caduceus's lips are clumsy, uncertain, but learning, more confident with each gentle kiss, and when Caleb breathes out heavy and pulls him in closer, mouth opening against his, he follows the lead he is given. His tongue is rough, and Caleb shivers, wanting more of it. 

“You should sit down,” he manages after a moment, pulling away, and Caduceus nods. He sits back onto the stone border of the garden and then lifts Caleb by the hips into his lap, a faint furrow of his brow the only indication of the strain, and Caleb's breath leaves him in a rush. He forgets, sometimes, that firbolgs are more powerful than they look. 

“This is nice,” Caduceus says, big hands on Caleb's bare sides as he draws him in again, and Caleb closes his eyes and gives himself over to it, kissing Caduceus deep and slow, the whole world narrowing to the heat between them, Caduceus's rough tongue pressing against his, his big body caging him in. Caduceus's hips shift, pressing up into his, clumsy in their movements but even that is enough to wrench a gasp from Caleb, and he closes his eyes tighter, grinding down into Caduceus's lap. He can feel Caduceus half hard against him, feel the hands at his sides tighten as they find a rhythm, friction almost painful with fabric in the way but still exactly what he needs, and he pushes both hands up underneath Caduceus's loose shirt, a little illicit thrill going through him as his fingers find faint fur instead of smooth skin. 

Caduceus's fingers dip experimentally under his waistband, and he shivers hard, pressing into it, trying to get more. He's making noise he's barely aware of, soft, plaintive little sounds as he squirms in Caduceus's lap, and Caduceus smiles against his mouth. 

“I like the noises you make,” Caduceus admits, drawing back to nose along the side of Caleb's neck. 

“You can, ah, with your teeth, if you want,” Caleb says, and a bolt of heat goes through him as Caduceus nods and bites down on the crook of his neck. He's burning up, overwhelmed, and all he can think is that he wants more of this, more skin, more of Caduceus's big body all around him, and thank the Wildmother Caduceus is an insightful man, because he hmms against Caleb's skin and asks, “What do you want?”

“More,” Caleb says, and he flushes, but after a moment he gets the words out, barely above a whisper. “We, if you, I know this is new to you but, ah—I would want you inside me. If you are willing.” 

“I don't know how,” Caduceus admits. 

“I can do the challenging parts,” Caleb says. “But if you do, please, your bed, we are on a rooftop right now.”

Caduceus nods and Caleb gets up, leading him by the hand back to his bed. His face is flushed too and his hair, already a wild pink mane under normal circumstances, is a mess. He looks overwhelmed, and his eyes are wide, but he's smiling, too, looking down at their joined hands. 

“Are you sure?” Caleb asks, and he nods.

Caduceus has seen him naked before. It helps, in this moment, as Caleb steps out of his pants and settles back onto the bed, Caduceus's eyes on him. He towers over Caleb, his sheer presence overwhelming, and when he shucks his shirt, tugs down his loose pants, Caleb's breath leaves him and all he can do is stare and be profoundly thankful for the enterprising arcanist who invented the _grease_ spell, because he is going to need it. Caduceus is _huge_.

“What?” Caduceus asks, looking down at himself, but something in Caleb's expression must clue him in. “Is this what you like?” 

Caleb nods, because he doesn't trust his voice right now, and Caduceus smiles. 

“Good,” he says. 

“This may be, ah, a bit strange if you have not seen it before,” Caleb says, and greases up his fingers with a quick muttering of arcane words before settling back onto his back and pressing a finger inside himself. He hisses out a breath; it's been a long time, but god, he loves this, used to get teased about it by Astrid all the time because he wanted Eodwulf inside him more than she did, even, and they—He shakes his head, trying to put them out of his mind and stay in the moment, and Caduceus, seeing it, lays down beside him, head propped up on one arm, watching. Caleb adds a second finger, working himself back down onto both fingers with a little moan, and Caduceus's gaze sharpens.

“Can I try?” he asks, and Caleb nods, taking Caduceus's hands to slick them up too. He's hesitant with it, pressing in one finger slowly, but his hands are huge and even that feels like a lot. Caleb reaches out with his clean hand and pulls Caduceus in for a kiss, trying to muffle the sounds he makes as Caduceus fucks him with his fingers, slow and methodical, learning what he likes. He looks fascinated. 

“Please, I need--” Caleb shudders hard as Caduceus crooks his fingers, and this could be enough, but he's always been a little greedy. “Lay back.”

“Lay back?” Caduceus asks, but he does, and Caleb straddles him, lines them up, sinks down onto him. It seems to go on forever, an endless, drugging pressure and burn, every part of him wanting to push past his limit and take everything Caduceus has to offer, and by the time they're pressed hip to hip he could swear that if he put a hand on his lower belly he would be able to feel it there. Caduceus is sweating, hands tightening on his sides so hard they might bruise, and just when Caleb thinks he might be adjusted to it all Caduceus's hips twitch upwards hard and the noise Caleb lets out is so very loud in the small space. 

“Oh,” Caduceus manages as Caleb starts to ride him, propping himself back up to sitting so he can hold Caleb in his lap. He's clumsy with this too, at first, but he starts to fall back into the rhythm, fucking up hard as Caleb presses down, hands on his hips to guide him like before. Caleb is going to be ruined for anyone else after this; he wraps his arms around Caduceus and holds him close, keeping him deep, overwhelmed, and the friction of his cock rubbing against Caduceus's chest is enough to push him over the edge, making a mess of the short gray fur there. Caduceus keeps fucking into him for another minute, maybe more, and Caleb shudders and squirms on his cock, an oversensitive mess, clutching him tight as he feels Caduceus start to come inside him. 

Caleb is still panting too hard to speak as he pushes up to let Caduceus slip out and settles onto his side on the bed. Caduceus rolls over too, after a moment, a hand coming to rest on Caleb's side, and Caleb gives into the impulse and rests his forehead against Caduceus's chest. Caduceus's hand, after a moment, is suddenly warmer to the touch, a faint white glow around it. 

“Did you just cure me?” Caleb asks, terribly fond in the moment. 

“Just in case,” Caduceus says. “I didn't know if I hurt you.” 

Caleb shakes his head. “Nein, though I appreciate the caution. New things today, ja?” 

Caduceus smiles. “Yeah.” 

“Why now? Why not before?” 

“Never really had the... urge to, I suppose.”

Guilt drops like a lead weight in the pit of Caleb's stomach. “Did I—I thought you--”

“I enjoyed it,” Caduceus says. “It's--” He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and Caleb waits, because if Caduceus teaches anything, it's patience. “It's like cooking a meal for your family.”

Caduceus puts a finger up to Caleb's lips before he can interject. “Cooking takes a lot of work. And sometimes you end up with spices on your fingers or stains on your robes or sore arms. But even when it makes you tired it still makes people happy. Your effort means something, and that makes you feel good.”

“And--” Caleb hesitates, twisting his fingers together just to give his hands something to do. “That is what sex is for you? You like it because it makes people happy?”

“Yeah,” Caduceus says, smiling. “It makes people feel good. That's good.” 

“Oh,” Caleb says, soft, and Caduceus wraps his arms around Caleb and pulls him close, Caleb's face pressed against warm fur. Caduceus purrs, sometimes, mostly in his sleep, but sometimes when he's awake and happy too, and Caleb can feel the gentle rumbling now. 

“I don't think about it when it's not happening,” Caduceus says, lips against the top of Caleb's head, and there's a gentle tickle against Caleb's scalp as he speaks. “But it's nice.” 

“I would--not ask very often. If we did this again.”

“I know you wouldn't, Mr. Caleb. I wouldn't have if I thought you would.” 

He runs a soothing hand up and down Caleb's bare back, and Caleb lets himself drift into sleep,lulled by the motions and the gentle rumbling of Caduceus's purr. 

For the first time in a long time, he sleeps without dreaming. 

*

“Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus says, and Caleb looks up from his book. “Come see. Your seeds sprouted.” 

The two of them lean in close and Caduceus points to the beginnings of a curved stem pushing itself up out of the dirt. There is a whole row of faint, new green. 

“You did good,” he says. “I don't think we'll have to thin them much. I think they're going to be healthy.” 

Caleb lets himself run a gentle finger along the stem, his chest tight. “How do you know if they will make it?”

Caduceus smiles. “Sometimes you just know when something's going to be okay.”


End file.
